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The elders never called upon you.
You are no longer a member of the main branch, the tenuous matrimonial tie severed after Toji absconded with your firstborn, destroyed entirely after it was clear he would not be returning—on account of his being dead and all. But even during your marriage, you went overlooked because of your husband. At most, you were tolerated for your technique’s vague similarity to the Ten Shadows.
The Zen’in clan at large is more fond of your second husband, Saiichi. But seeing as your only real point of reference was the nigh omnipresent derision towards Toji, the bar may as well be below the earth’s mantle. Regardless, you’ve been treated more kindly as the years pass. The cruelest among you will mock you for being abandoned by the lowest of the low. The rest see that you’ve redeemed yourself by serving as the perfect wife. You’ve even managed to gain a couple of sycophants after your secondborn, a strong and healthy son, began manifesting your technique, claiming Toji was an ungrateful fool for ever daring to leave you.
It’s easier to accept these words than to admit the truth, that you had driven him away, and so you do.
But these were bottom feeders who would never be anything more in their lives. The true authoritative heads of the clan paid you little heed, and you were glad for it. Once they learned that Megumi had in fact inherited the desired technique, a bright red target was painted on your back for letting him slip from your grasp. Thus, when Naobito demanded (not requested, for that would imply he gave you the option to refuse) your presence, you were rightfully wary.
Little did you know that you’d been brought into discussions regarding the fate of your eldest son. Not that you were given permission to participate, instead made to sit in silence with your daughter on your hip as Naobito argued with a child.
The Gojo boy had asked, at one point, if you were ever going to speak. If you even could.
“She is not here to negotiate,” interceded Naobito on your behalf. You had been a little preoccupied with the girl using your torso as a makeshift jungle gym to respond, but you know he would’ve spoken for you even if you hadn’t. “She will be the boy’s guardian and tutor if he’s going to the clan.”
I’m his MOTHER, you want to scream. You hold your tongue instead.
It isn’t until they call a break in the talks that you get the chance to use your voice. Whilst the Zen’in elders talk among themselves, you slip away to corner the Gojo boy. He smiles as you approach, more at Nobue as she tugs at your ear with all the strength of a two year-old. Both of her brothers were far more docile, and you grab her tiny hands in a vice grip and pin them to her front.
“How old are you?” you ask the boy, in lieu of a proper greeting.
He purses his lips. “That’s rude,” says Gojo Satoru. “You wouldn’t like it if I asked how old you were, would you, baa-san?”
A vein throbs in your forehead. You know better than to rise to the bait. “You’re still in high school?”
“Does it matter?”
“I just find it hard to believe that my ex-husband would entrust our child to another child.” Comprehension dawns in his blue eyes, just barely visible over the rims of his glasses, and you allow your lips to curve just a bit. Shifting your grip on Nobue, you shrug. “Although, based on what I’ve heard about you, calling you a child wouldn't be doing you justice.”
“It just makes me look haughty to agree with you,” hums Gojo, a shrewd tilt to his head. He’s sizing you up just as much as you are him. You’re reminded of his much more guileless uncle, a prospective husband you’d written off because of the young man in front of you.
What had become of him? The Gojo clan is powerful, but their dominance rested solely on the shoulders of this brat and no one else. The Zen’in clan, by comparison, had a small town’s worth of capable sorcerers. You and your husband are considered part of the Akashi, just below the elites.
The boy grins, and you’re envious of his lack of crows feet. “But you’re right. Your ex never mentioned you, you know. Just the clan.”
Ruefully, you chuckle. “Knowing Toji, we’re probably one and the same in his eyes. Were, I suppose.” You still find yourself correcting tenses, even after all this time.
“Yeah, he kinda gave me the impression that Megumi’s mom was dead.”
An amateurish attempt at getting under your skin. You plaster a smile on your face. “Yeah, that sounds like him.” Leaning closer, you drop your voice to a whisper and impress upon him all the wistfulness you can muster. It isn’t entirely insincere. You are curious about the boy you’d once thought forever lost to you. “Megumi… what is he like? The last time I saw him, he was just a baby, not even a year old.”
Gojo takes a moment to ponder his response. He’s opting for honesty, then. “He’s stern for his age,” he says eventually. “Serious, even though he’s so little. I reckon he had to grow up quick after being abandoned by all three of his parents. He’s so unimpressed by everything around him that that in itself is a little impressive. Is that his little sister?”
You blink as he jerks his chin at Nobue, switching tacks so quickly you don’t pivot in time. “I’m not exactly a babysitter,” you snark, harsher than you had intended. So maybe he had ticked you off just a bit, implying that you’d left Megumi when in reality he’d been taken from you.
Holding his hands up in surrender, Gojo laughs. It’s an annoying sound. It suits him. “It’s just that he has an older sister,” he says. “They’re sort of a package deal, stuck together at the hip. She practically raised him, and he loves her a lot. But I’m not sure if the clan would take her in, since she’s just an ordinary person.”
Dismissively, you click your tongue. “What becomes of his stepsister is of no concern to the clan. There’s nothing for her here.” And you have your hands full as it is without having to care for someone else’s daughter. What was your replacement like, you wonder. Did Toji ever look at her the way he used to look at you? Did this brat also call him Dad? Jealousy is an ugly thing, and you are no stranger to it.
You don’t realize just how full of motion Gojo is until he stills at your words. “No,” he agrees. “I guess there isn’t.”
“Thank you for talking to me.” You pay his honesty in kind—with earnestness, if nothing else. You reach out to pat his shoulder lightly. He remains tense, and your hand never makes contact with him. His technique, it looks like. Being outfoxed by a boy is embarrassing. “You’re… different than how I imagined you.”
That breathes life back into him. Any chance for him to preen, you suppose. “Oh? And what exactly does that mean?”
“It means that I was expecting a snot-nosed, self-absorbed, greedy, and entitled little brat.” Nobue kicks you in the ribs, perhaps a warning that you’re laying it on a little too thick. “But you're just an ordinary kid.”
“Oh, I’m all of those things,” Gojo snickers. “But thanks. You’re different, too. I was the one who asked you to be here, or at least whoever they were going to pawn poor Megumi off to. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t.” Wouldn’t that have been a surprise, if Naobito had simply dropped him into your lap one day without any warning?
No, the truth was that he’d used you as leverage today. Parade the birth mother around, make it seem like the boy was going to be in good hands with his immediately family, when in actuality you’d be lucky to even get a glimpse of him. Your hypothesis had been proven correct all these years later, and now the elders are chomping at the bit to have him. It’s highly likely you won’t even get scraps. Were they banking on Gojo to just wipe his hands clean of the entire thing? Or were they going to dress you both up as a loving mother-son duo if he so happened to stop by to see how things were going?
“I suppose I should thank you, then—though I’ll save that for after I hear your opinion of me. I may end up cursing you instead,” you tell him.
Gojo snorts, a noise curtailed by Naobito’s re-entry into the room. They lock gazes, and then Gojo turns to look at you. You think there may be a flash of understanding there.
More than anything, you want your baby back in your arms, even if he’s not actually a baby anymore. But as long as the man behind you still lives, you’ll never get your son back. Toji wouldn’t have wanted this, for the boy to be used as a puppet, corrupted by the vile brood that had once cast him out. Now that he’s gone, as is Megumi’s step-mother, you and the boy in front of you are all he has left by way of parents.
“If this were to fall through, who would be taking care of my son?” You speak carefully and quietly, all too aware of the needle-sharp daggers sent your way by your clansman.
“He’d be a ward of the school,” answers Gojo. “But I’d act as his primary guardian.”
“Ah. I see.” Good enough. The strongest sorcerer alive, the scion of a prestigious family. You smile at him, leaning closer and lowering your voice to convey shyness more so than conspiracy. “Do you… do you think he’d like me?”
Gojo’s spectacles slip down the bridge of his nose, and you’re met with the full ferocity of his blue eyes. They’re piercing, searching, and circumspect as he scrutinizes your face. Is this really what you want? As you dip your head, a wicked sneer spreads across his features, tempered slightly by the grudging respect in his gaze. It’s not noticeable from afar, and Naobito is distant enough that he won’t pick up on it.
Brows curved low, a brief flash of teeth, and a vicious curve of his lips punctuate Gojo’s too-loud (or rather, loud enough) words: “Nah, you’re too much of an evil step-mom.”
It stings, but it’s for the best. They’ll blame you for this, for speaking out of turn and botching the deal. Your reputation will suffer. Your husband will be angry, for once, instead of merely indifferent. You lay your cheek on top of Nobue’s head as she whines and nuzzles into your neck.
This is the world she will grow up in, your sweet, feisty little girl. She will be made to be docile, to obey and never question, to serve her father and brother and someday her husband. The world will take and take and take from her, this clan nothing but a ravenous black hole that will never have its fill. Her brother Morinaga’s life will be a thousand times easier by virtue of his sex, though it can’t be said that the Zen’in clan was ever kind to its sons either. They will break him in his training, and if he winds up in the Akashi along with his family, the disappointment may crush him. And yet all you can do is hold your children a little tighter and teach them to endure and survive what’s to come.
But if you have to let one of go far away from you to spare him of this fate, of course you will. He is all that you have left of the love of your life—but you know that it will be better this way. Megumi will be safe, and with any luck, he will be happier than he would ever be with you.
Gojo is still talking, now over your head, playful and impish where Naobito is livid.
You press quick kisses to Nobue’s crown, then temple, then cheek, as you squeeze your eyes shut to try and drown out the image of a little boy with wild raven spikes for hair and his father’s jade eyes in shadow.